Armani Stops at our House

I was sitting opposite this guy one Friday evening. We were both waiting in the lobby of one of the bigger multi-national companies in Dublin. He had the camera ready to go for the weekend. The words for the poem came quickly.

Armani Stops at our House

Ferrari
sunbathing on the verge,

Armani
surveyed from the wall.

Rolex
grinning up a cuff,

Nikon
stole grand-dad’s gappy smile.

Ray-bans
snapping the moment shut,

Gucci
stepped from the grass;

Pirelli
spat dust into our gateway.

Cezanne's mountain

I would love to write a series of poems to accompany Cezanne's many paintings of Mont Sainte Victoire near Aix de Provence. I love the play of light, different times of day,year, catching the mountain in different moods. His ability to find so much in the same inanimate rock, to paint it in different guises, like characters on a stage. I love the diamond facets, the iceberg, the turbulence, menace,ghostliness, disappearance, its solidity, its transparency, remoteness, closeness, blueness, whiteness.

That ability to see so much, to make the mass so ethereal but as often so solid and present.That would be an achievement for a poet.

It would be nice if someone would translate the following YouTube video (thanks to manonous for uploading), but even without translation I enjoy the painting of Cezanne's mountain.

Here's my start:

Cezanne's Mountain

1.

Like ice,
like iron,
like glass,

like air, granite.

The sun inside it,
through it,
off it.

Purpling into thunder,

convulsing cumulusly,
bulging
into storm.

2.
Sugary brilliance this morning,
the brow of Provence
clear as the first day:
a tooth,a molar